


Chasing Ghosts

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Harry comes face to face with the man who haunts him in his mind, but something isn't quite right...<br/>Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): Prostitution, the idea of 'Ownership', sex for money outside of prostitution, rimming, glory holes, oral sex, language, angst, character death</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Ghosts

**Chasing Ghosts**  
  
The tension was almost palpable as he pushed open the door, but Harry resolutely stepped over the threshold, purely because it was warmer inside than out. He had hoped that the alcohol in his system would keep him warm so that he wouldn't have to resort to the grim old building with its even grimmer rooms, but there he was, and his fingers were already reaching for the zip on his coat.  
  
He kept his eyes on the bar as he walked towards it, not ready for what sights would meet him should he look around. He muttered his wish for a double rum and coke and waited for it. He was drunk enough, but it wasn't yet midnight, and he wasn't nearly drunk enough to feel the oblivion he needed to feel when the clock struck twelve.  
  
"Anything else?" the barman grunted at him, raising his bushy eyebrows in question.  
  
Harry shoved a Muggle ten pound note over the bar in response; he silently swore at the little change he received in return. He swiftly looked for a table and made his way to one by the wall, content that he could place his back to the room and stare at nothing. When he got there, however, the only seat was a bench style one against the wall itself, and as Harry slipped into place, he could no longer avert his eyes from the other patrons.  
  
There were men holding hands. Dark shapes along the walls, dark like himself, which moved with either soft, undulating movements or rough, desperate jerks. Despite himself, Harry's cock twitched in his pants. He sipped at his drink and enjoyed the strength of the spirit as it scorched his throat.  
  
 _Just another five of these and I won't even know my name, let alone what day it is._  
  
And he, Harry thought as he chugged back a more violent sip, would give anything to forget what day it was. Trying not to linger on the fact, he continued sucking at his glass, but to his dismay suddenly the bottom of it came into view and his three pound fifty had gone in only five mouthfuls. Dumbly, he stared at the glass.  
  
A figure caught his eye along with the large shaft of light which opened up to his right; a man walked from the bathroom, making no secret of the fact that he was buttoning his jeans. Narrowing his eyes, Harry picked out the dull flush on the man's cheeks. For every bit of restraint his cock had shown before, the sight of the man so obviously ruffled made it twitch. He knew exactly what that man had been doing in the toilet of the grubby pub. He was out of his seat before he knew it.  
  
Banging through the door, his breath caught in his throat when he saw another man shut the toilet door in front of him.  
  
"Bollocks," he muttered beneath his breath and hovered, wondering what he should do.  
  
A soft moan rent the air and, unhappy though he was to have to wait, his jeans grew tighter over his crotch. Harry slouched against the wall and closed his eyes. The man in the toilet grew louder and louder, his breaths growing raspier as he was pleasured.  
  
Harry knew he wouldn't be able to look the stranger in the eye when he was done and tried to leave -but that was fine. Nobody looked each other in the eye in the pub -it was one of the unspoken rules.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
The hiss was loud and echoed off the walls. Harry clenched his jaw and willed his prick to behave; it had been a while since he'd visited. The time of year had pushed him into it, forcing his mouth to the spirit bottle and pushing his feet along the pavement to enter the pub. The sound of the door lock turning dragged him from his stupor. He looked at the floor and saw two well-booted feet hurriedly pass. He waited until the main toilet door had swung shut before he moved.  
  
Then there was no stopping him. He nearly fell over his own feet as he entered the cubicle, slamming it shut and fumbling with the lock. His fingers slipped as clumsily over the button of his jeans and with the zip. He stroked his cock once before guiding it through the large hole in the wall.  
  
A prickle of shame tortured his spine as he waited for it, for the silken mouth to close around him and suck him into orgasm. He could hear his blood in his ears.  
  
 _Come on!_  
  
He gasped when the first touch of a soft tongue scraped over the head of his cock. It hit the wall and bounded back into his face. The tongue began circling into a rhythm and Harry closed his eyes. He tried to remember a face, a strong jaw, a manly scent. He thought of a warm body against his own, holding him, cradling him, almost, to make the fact that he was standing in a dirty toilet being sucked off by a whore far less depressing.  
  
The suction started suddenly and Harry gasped, hands flying up to brace against the partition wall. He allowed his hips to cant back and forth, driving his erection into the man's mouth. He didn't care if he hit the back of a throat or choked whoever was blowing him; the man on the other side of the wall was nameless, a means to an end, a willing mouth to get him off and really, there was no more to it than that.  
  
Sharp teeth nipped and Harry slammed into the wall, throwing his head back as he came hard. He couldn't help but imagine the way his come would drip from the whore's mouth, how it would be licked away like sweetness.  
  
The wet heat disappeared as he began to soften and Harry pressed his forehead against the partition, listening to his own breaths.  
  
"Thank you," he whispered, so quietly that he hoped the man on the other side didn't hear it.  
  
It took him a few moments before the ability to move returned to him; his limbs felt like lead and, all of a sudden, the alcohol caught up with him, spinning his head and causing his stomach to churn. Lurching upright, he tucked himself away and sorted out his jeans, before taking a deep breath and stepping back out into the main bathroom.  
  
He walked to the sink and ran the cold tap, cupping his hands beneath it and catching the barely-cool water in his palms. He released it once and then pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head, before catching more water and throwing it up over his face. It was little comfort, but he repeated the move to try and cool his cheeks. He turned the tap off and bowed his head, closing his eyes to the throbbing which had started up in his brain. Now that his release had been achieved, he felt disgusting -like he was no better than the whore who had been on his knees mere moments before. Harry only realised that he was gripping the sink when his fingers began to ache. Escape became his number one objective as he glanced up at the spotted mirror and saw his tired face, which seemed old beyond his years.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry -I thought that-"  
  
Harry's head jerked up at the voice and he looked over his shoulder in the mirror; what he saw there nearly caused his heart to stop thudding. Reaching for the sink again, he shook his head so that his glasses fell into place, and what he saw was no more comforting.  
  
"Am I seeing ghosts?" he asked hoarsely.  
"Eh?" Utter confusion spread across the freckled face behind him.  
  
Everything within his body seemed to convulse, and Harry thought he might be sick.  
  
"R-Ron?"  
  
"Excuse me?" The young man's brow creased.  
  
"Ron, what are you...? Oh my God."  
  
"My name isn't Ron," the boy said firmly. "My name is Hugo. And you're-"  
  
If Harry had been looking more closely, and without the mask of horror which had slipped in front of his eyes, he might have seen the comprehension dawning in the man's eyes. He himself might have realised that he was not seeing a ghost, but a living product of a man now dead.  
  
"Don't," he ground out. "Don't say my name."  
  
It was too similar. He even _sounded_ like him.  
  
Plump lips -plump lips which had just been wrapped around his cock- opened to speak again and Harry reached his limit. He launched himself towards the door and didn't care when he smashed his shoulder into the frame as he barrelled away from the ghost in the mirror.  
  


* * *

  
It took barely anything for Harry to convince himself to return the following night. The blow job had haunted his thoughts all night long, and once the initial shock had worn off, he had begun to wish that he hadn't run away so hurriedly from the pub.  
  
The boy's face hovered in front of his mind's eye and there was nothing else he could think of to make it disappear. He simply wanted to see it again, to maybe reach out and touch it, to feel the boy's skin, to see whether he felt like Harry hoped he felt.  
  
On the approach to the pub, Harry clenched his hands into fists in his pockets. He had hoped that nothing would drag him out of his house on that night, that he could curl up in his bed and ignore the fact that as the minutes slipped by, another year was marked, and another year of loneliness had gone by, and he felt no better. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry focussed on the swinging pub sign. Hugo looked like his father, no doubt about it. He was the spitting image.  
  
And that, without doubt, was why Harry resolutely continued along the pavement, and put his hand to the door.  
  
He was earlier than the evening before and the room was less crowded. The room smelt far less of man, too. Controlling the urge to allow his eyes to dart nervously about, Harry made his way to the bar and ordered just a single measure in the name of keeping his wits about him, should he find what he was looking for. He paid and drifted to a table off to the left, which would give him a good view of the other patrons. He shrugged out of his coat and let it fall in between his back and the chair. He sipped at his drink, stared at the wooden grain of the table.  
  
 _Fuck it._  
  
Unable to hold back any longer, Harry glanced furtively about, looking for flashes of red hair, creamy skin and freckles. He saw plenty of whores, but none of them had Hugo's bone structure, nor his blue eyes. They were dotted about, kissing, laughing and drinking obediently.  
  
"Hello."  
  
Heart leaping, Harry's gut turned with disappointment when he looked up into the smiling face of a blond boy with thin lips and slightly-pointed ears.  
  
"Looking for someone to keep you company tonight?"  
  
"Uh... um. Well..." Harry licked his lips nervously, feeling like an idiot. "I was looking for someone specific."  
  
"Oh." The blond's face fell. "Well. I hope you find him then."  
  
"Wait," Harry reached out with Seeker's reflexes and snatched up the boy's wrist in his fingers. "Do you know a Hugo, who works here?"  
  
The boy stared at him for a moment. "That depends whose asking."  
  
"Someone very important to his future."  
  
Harry didn't know why he answered with such cryptic words, but he stared at the blond and waited for him to continue. There was a loud sigh and the boy bent down, bringing his lips close to Harry's ear. As he spoke, his hot breath tickled it.  
  
"You should be careful. There are people who come here who have favourites and get protective. And Hugo... Hugo has somebody. So watch yourself. Wouldn't want that pretty face getting bruised."  
  
Harry shuddered as cool fingertips brushed his cheek.  
  
"Where is he?" he ground out.  
  
"Look closely in the corner over there." The blond nodded to the corner to the left hand side of the door. "And you'll find him. With his sugar daddy."  
  
There was an unkind laugh, and without another touch, the blond was gone, leaving Harry blinking into the dimness of the left hand corner, eager to seek out the man he had come so very far to see. When he really looked, the red hair was easy to spot. What was not easy to stomach, however, was the way that Hugo was wrapped around a stocky, dark-haired man, who appeared to be eating his face. When he really concentrated, Harry could see that Hugo was sitting on the man's lap, his thin body held by muscled arms. Harry bristled, and didn't know why.  
  
The two men detached. Hugo leant forward and said something in the man's ear, and then wiggled backwards so that he could stand up. Harry nearly growled when the older man reached forward and grabbed the young boy's crotch.  
  
Young boy wasn't the right description, Harry knew. From looking at him, Hugo had to be aged around nineteen. He did the sums in his head and realised he was right, from the important dates in his past. While he had been thinking, Hugo had turned and begun picking his way through the tables and punters. He was dressed in baggy, ripped jeans and a tight t-shirt which showed off his flat belly and toned chest.  
  
 _God. He really does look like him._  
  
Harry didn't have to try hard to replace Hugo with Ron. Ron had looked exactly that way at nineteen, with the same dress sense, the same uncomfortable aura in his bones. Unable to help himself, Harry appreciated the curve of the boy's backside, and started when suddenly Hugo turned his way, and stopped to look at him. Before he knew it, Harry was on his feet, dumbly staring at the young man approaching him. When fingers locked around his wrist as his own had done to the blond's just minutes before, his heart began thudding. Wordlessly, Hugo tugged on his arm and pulled him. Harry paid no mind to the drink he left behind as they passed through the tables. They went through a door to the right of the bar, which he had somehow not seen the evening before, and to their left was a staircase.  
  
"Going up?" a man asked in surprised, looking at the pair of them.  
  
"No, just going for some fresh air."  
  
"Watch yourself!" the man, who Harry realised had been guarding the stairs with a book in his hand, shouted after them.  
  
He thought he heard Hugo muttering something to himself as they stepped through an open door, and cool evening air hit a face that Harry hadn't realised was hot. Hugo immediately buried his hands in his pockets and slouched against the brick wall of what turned out to be a small courtyard, not unlike the one at the back of The Leaky Cauldron.  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
Harry suddenly felt the urgent need to smoke. He fumbled in his pocket and managed to stretch out the time before answering by popping the stick in his mouth and lighting it with the muggle lighter he carried everywhere. He exhaled a plume of smoke and swallowed, still unsure of what he should say.  
  
"You look so much like your father."  
  
Immediately, he regretted it. Hugo shifted awkwardly and his hands came back into sight; he cracked his knuckles. Harry's heart gave a throb.  
  
"Why are you here?" Hugo repeated his question. "Aren't you married? Why're you in a place like this?"  
  
The rhythmic, lazy lilt of his tone was like stepping back into the past, Harry found. Hugo's eyes were wide with true earnest curiosity, and, not for the first time, Harry was slammed with regret for his lack of contact with the boy who was his godson. When Hugo had been a true baby, snuggled in his parents' arms, Harry had seen him and his older sister nearly every day. They were rarely apart.  
  
And then, with catastrophic force, the divorce had ripped them all apart. The bonds were shredded and Harry found himself forced to pick a side -and he hadn't been surprised at all when he had sided with Ron. Hermione had taken the children. She had broken Ron's heart. Without Harry, Ron had nothing.  
  
With Ron's death, Harry had completely lost touch with the children, and their mother, not sending birthday cards, or Christmas cards. There had been times when he had been unsure of whether he would have been able to speak to his second best friend in the street if he had met her. She had ruined everything.  
  
"No. Not married any more," he said finally.  
  
"Well, least you didn't have any kids to fuck up, right?"  
  
Harry winced, looking down at his boots.  
  
"I have cousins?" Hugo asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise.  
  
"Several, but they weren't all by me."  
  
Hugo laughed and shook his head.  
  
"If I'd known it was you on the other side of that wall..." Harry trailed off, feeling awkward.  
  
"You would still have done it." Hugo shrugged.  
  
"No-"  
  
"You're looking at me like you want to eat me. If there was one thing my mum hated about me the most, it was how much I looked like Dad. So the fact that you're here... and your pupils are so dilated... I'm guessing that means that even if you'd known it was me on my knees sucking your cock, you would still have done it."  
  
Slightly stunned, Harry fell back against the wall and stared.  
  
"And I know that when I came out of the door I've never seen anybody look so hopeful in all my life. And I'm a prostitute. I see fuck loads of hope."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Men hoping I'm going to do just what they crave -things my contract forbids."  
  
Hugo shrugged nonchalantly. Harry was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to bolt.  
  
"Go on, run away." Hugo smiled at him. "I have to get back anyway, before he comes looking."  
  
"The man you were with?"  
  
"My... patron, I think polite society would call him."  
  
"What?" Harry felt thick.  
  
"Comes here frequently. Pays me to be exclusive to him."  
  
"And the glory hole?" Harry snorted.  
  
"What he doesn't know... he was away on business. And what goes on in there is private."  
  
Hugo pushed off the wall without much effort and headed for the doorway to Harry's left. At the last moment before ducking through, however, he pressed his body against Harry's, and cupped his cheek with his hand. They were kissing with warm lips and marked softness. Harry shuddered as Hugo's nose brushed against his own.  
  
Before it had really begun, it was over.  
  
"I hope that's all you were dreaming of." A soft laugh accompanied the soft words.  
  
"W-What?" Harry stammered.  
  
Hugo's footsteps were his only answer.  
  


* * *

  
  
There was no question that he would go back the following evening. Harry sat with his fingers curled around a small tumbler of whisky looking in the same corner. Hugo was there, with his man, and they were engrossed in each other. Hugo had not looked over at him once.  
  
Harry didn't know why he wanted him to, either.  
  


* * *

  
  
Shattered because he hadn't slept a wink, Harry sat slumped at what had quickly become his usual table, sipping at a rather reserved pint of Coke. His body had begun to protest at the continued alcohol intake; it had slipped out of practice. In the first days after Ron's death, he had survived in one continual haze of booze, drowning his many sorrows and never bothering to kick to live. As the grief had eased into the background, his dependency had left him.  
  
On seeing Ron's son, however, the need had shot straight back to the forefront, along with the grief. He had been in bed all night, wide-eyed, unable to stop _remembering._  
  
He gulped at his drink and stared into the darkened corner; once again, Hugo had not looked in his direction, and Harry was beginning to grow desperate, simply to see those blue eyes staring at him.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Back again?"  
  
Harry jerked uncomfortably in his seat as the voice slithered through his thoughts. He looked up to find the blond who had spoken to him on his second evening looking down at him with raised eyebrows.  
  
"Uh-"  
  
There was a short laugh and the blond sat down next to him. "Not on the sauce tonight either, eh? You've got it bad for him, haven't you?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." _I used to be such a good liar._  
  
"Oh come on." The blond drummed his fingers on the table. "But don't tell me that you're his tall, dark and handsome here to take him away from his life of sin?"  
  
Harry gaped at him.  
  
"You can't be anyway, too short." The blond smirked. "But even if you were, it wouldn't work. You wouldn't be the first and I know from experience that he won't go. They all fall in love with Hugo." Bitterness marred the blond's tone and Harry felt oddly defensive.  
  
"He's beautiful, who wouldn't?" he spat angrily.  
  
Harry got to his feet and headed for the door, not quite sure why he was so angry, or why the news that other men had loved Hugo Weasley hurt him so much.  
  


* * *

  
  
There was no sight of the blond when Harry returned the next night, and he was glad, secretly hoping that someone, somewhere, was wiping the smug smirk off the bastard's face.  
  
He might have been there, but as Harry was not in his usual place, he didn't know and didn't care. Where Harry found himself was far bleaker; one of the non-descript rooms above the pub, and there were cream walls, a cream carpet and a cream coloured bed. It looked far less dirty than he had been expecting from the state of the toilet with the glory hole.  
  
 _People pay for this._  
  
And Harry, too, was paying for it. Sighing, he stripped off his jacket and threw it in the corner before cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck from side to side. He was too tense for it, too nervous about what would happen when the door opened and Hugo saw him.  
  
It hadn't been hard to convince the man guarding the stairs that he had wanted someone specific; it was pure luck that Harry had asked on the evening when the man who seemed to possess Hugo was not there.  
  
Before he had time to think any more, there were footsteps outside the door and they seemed to mirror the thud of Harry's heart.  
  
"I heard this was a special req-"  
  
Hugo froze in the middle of his sentence and a big silence stretched between them.  
  
"I've paid," Harry blurted stupidly. "So I get what I want now, right?"  
  
Hugo stared at him a moment longer and finally answered. "Yep."  
  
"I paid the bloke for the room, but..."  
  
He knew it would probably insult Hugo, but he needed the cash out of his pocket. Harry pulled a wad of notes out of his jeans pocket and lobbed it at the bed. "That's extra. For you. Use it however you want. Take a few nights off maybe."  
  
It struck Harry then that he was paying the son of his best friend -and the man he had fallen in love with later in life- for sex, in a whorehouse. He didn't even know what Hugo was doing there, and all of a sudden felt terrible for not asking _why_.  
  
"Don't." Hugo seemed to have pre-empted him. "Don't ask questions."  
  
"I've got to ask questions," Harry said irritably. "I've got to, because you're his son, and he's rolling in his bloody grave because I'm sure he knows what you're doing."  
  
"My dad is dead," Hugo said with faux boldness. "Gone. Rotted by now probably. What does it matter what he would have thought?"  
  
"Well what about your mum then?" Harry asked desperately.  
  
"I haven't seen her since I left Hogwarts."  
  
"She'd kill you."  
  
"Probably."  
  
Impasse reached, Harry folded his arms over his chest and stared at Hugo. His eyes fell on the money on the bed and a laugh bubbled out of his throat before he could help it.  
  
"What's funny?"  
  
"Someone offered your dad money like that once."  
  
Finally, with those words, Harry seemed to have succeeded in doing something he had been wondering if he would see. Hugo paled slightly and his shoulders slumped.  
  
" _What?_. My _dad?_ Slept with someone for..."  
  
"Well, I don't know if he ever actually took it, but he was pretty enterprising, so..."  
  
"Who?" Hugo asked, voice hoarse with either shock or upset.  
  
"Someone who should have known better."  
  
"Was it you?" Hugo's eyes narrowed with dislike.  
  
"No!"  
  
"Who, then?" the boy demanded, the tips of his ears going red.  
  
"Someone who should have seen how fragile he was after your mum had left him. Should have known to leave him alone."  
  
"Did they hurt him?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Why didn't you stop them?"  
  
Harry looked at his own shoes, humbled. Ron had never exactly detailed to him what had happened when, late one night at Grimmauld Place, Sirius had decided to make a move. Harry only knew that it happened.  
  
 _Because you couldn't bear to ask details in case your godfather had seen more of him than you had._  
  
"It doesn't matter now. They're both dead and the past can't be changed."  
  
"Tell me about it," Hugo muttered bitterly. He slouched to the bed and threw himself on it.  
  
Harry remained silent but drifted to the window.  
  
"What about you?" Hugo piped up suddenly. "Should someone see how fragile you are? Should it be me seeing that? Harry?"  
  
The name sounded far too grown up from Hugo's lips. It should have been 'Uncle Harry' with added affection, not the coldness that the room gave them in such a whorish setting.  
  
"Fuck you," he muttered desperately, fighting the urge to pounce.  
  
A lazy smile tautened Hugo's lips, and the lanky redhead leant back on his arms, revealing his washboard belly and long thighs.  
  
 _He's taunting you._  
  
That was it for Harry's restraint, it seemed. He launched himself across the room, flattening Hugo to the bed, and captured his mouth in a hard, painful kiss which seemed more tooth than lip. He grabbed thin wrists and pinned them to the bed whilst he raped the boy's mouth. The taste was clean, the smell was warm, but what steamrollered Harry was something that he should have known all along -that whilst Hugo might have looked like his father, sounded like him, blushed like him, laughed like him -he did not smell like Ron, and from the one, lingering memory Harry had, Hugo didn't taste like him either.  
  
The realisation hit him like a lightning bolt, stilling his body and leaving his lips hanging dumbly apart over Hugo's mouth. Hugo looked up at him, blue eyes narrowed.  
  
"I'm not living up to the fantasy, am I?"  
  
There was a slight smirk to the tone. As if the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders, Harry fell face-first into Hugo, eyes closed and lips trembling, stunned by the stupidity of what he was doing, and at the scene he had instigated for want of experiencing a dead man.  
  
He gasped as a soft kiss pressed against his cheek, and then another, and another, until every inch of his cheeks had been kissed, and were beginning to slip down onto his chin, on the end of his nose, on each of his eyelids and over his forehead. Warm hands slipped over the curves of his shoulders -Harry couldn't remember releasing Hugo's wrists.  
  
"Oh God," he muttered, finding Hugo's willing mouth and kissing it, far more kindly than the first time, taking care to caress the sore spots he had created with his teeth. Hugo arched up beneath him and locked his arms around Harry's back.  
  
They kissed for a good while before they were interrupted by bodily determination. Harry felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.  
  
"I'm not the man you loved. Love," Hugo corrected quickly.  
  
"No."  
  
"But I look like him... and you're buying my body tonight. Use it. Use me."  
  
"Don't say it that way."  
  
"You're using me." Hugo's voice strengthened. "I'm a whore, a prostitute. You paid to get me even in the room. So are you going to waste your money?"  
  
"I don't need the money," Harry ground out. "I've got more money than you could ever dream of."  
  
"Because I'm just a whore, right?" One russet eyebrow rose sarcastically.  
  
"Shut up," Harry breathed, pushing up off the bed and crawling to the end of the mattress.  
  
He buried his face in his hands and bit hard into his bottom lip. He bit down until he tasted blood, allowing terror to take hold of him and what he had been driven to do.  
  
"Why'd you have to go and fucking die?" he choked out, forgetting that he was not alone, and that Hugo might well have something to say about his outburst.  
  
"He was working," Hugo whispered. "He didn't mean to leave you alone. Any of us."  
  
"But-"  
  
Harry broke off as Hugo's warm body cuddled into him from behind; when he glanced up, he saw that the tall redhead was kneeling behind him, and the sensation was beautiful as Harry's shoulder took the weight of the boy's chin, and warm arms locked around his belly.  
  
A young face and an old face in the mirror. Harry felt sick.  
  
"I'll go," he said hoarsely. "And tell them my own excitement made this a quick engagement and you can keep all the money."  
  
"Don't go."  
  
"I should leave. Surely you'd prefer to spend as little time with me as possible so that it doesn't get back to your... man." He couldn't use the words the blond had.  
  
"Him?"   
  
Hugo's voice took on a steely edge.  
  
"I hate him," he said simply.  
  
"Then why do you let him paw you about like that? Have some self-respect."  
  
"You do realise you've just said that to a rent boy, right?" There was a laugh. "Look, he's got money, and status in here, so..." Hugo shrugged.  
  
"And that's excuse to let him have exclusive rights?"  
  
"If he wants them, he pays for them, he gets them."  
  
"Don't you have any respect for yourself?"  
  
"I have respect," Hugo said shortly. "I just don't respect the men that come here, and that makes me feel better."  
  
"Well... thanks for that."  
  
Harry got to his feet, knocking Hugo down onto his back. He felt humiliated and abused, even though he hadn't been touched or threatened at all.  
  
"Oh, no -bollocks," Hugo muttered, his face flaming red. "I didn't mean _you_."  
  
"Of course you did." Harry laughed. "You can't have different rules for all of us. We're all the same."  
  
"Well... not being funny but you got up. You could have rolled me over, used your magic to strip me naked and fucked me until I couldn't walk. But you got up."  
  
"And is that what you want, for me to rape you so that you can put me in your 'arsehole' pile and have done with it?"  
  
"I don't know why my dad didn't sleep with you," Hugo blurted. "But I think he was an idiot for passing you up."  
  
"Don't call him an idiot -I never told Ron what I felt about him. We kissed, once, and then it was too late -he was dead. The amount of times I held myself back, when I could have thrown _him_ on the bed, made him all kinds of naked and fucked him raw. I did it then too, and I can fucking do it now. You won't see me again."  
  
He had the door halfway open before Hugo's long fingers locked around his wrist and yanked him back. The door drifted closed without his control. He careened towards the bed and landed with a bounce, and then Hugo was on top of him, dipping his tongue in and out of Harry's mouth, grinding down with his hips to pin Harry to the mattress.  
  
"Stop testing me." Harry's words came out as a long hiss.  
  
"I'm not testing you," Hugo spat back. "I'm freeing you. Isn't that what you want? To just do it and have done with it, to walk away afterwards?"  
  
And with the mention of being free, Harry was unable to hold back. He used his years of Auror training to muster his strength to roll Hugo over and trap him, and then Harry did exactly what Hugo had suggested. He made them both naked with a muttered curse, and Hugo froze as bare flesh touched bare flesh, and Harry's cock poked into the boy's belly.  
  
"Don't look so surprised," Harry whispered. "It was your suggestion."  
  
For a moment, he thought that Hugo was going to struggle, that he would have turned into a monster in a split second. After a moment, however, the boy smiled -a dirty little smile.  
  
"My mother always said it was a good thing I got her brains."  
  
"Your father was intelligent enough," Harry murmured, pressing another kiss to Hugo's mouth.  
  
They tussled for a while, rocking against one another's bodies and exploring mouths with eager tongues.  
  
"I want to lick somewhere else," Harry grunted, balls tightening to his body. "Roll over."  
  
Hugo did so with very little hesitation. Harry appreciated the spread of his back, ablaze with freckles, before he put a hand apiece to Hugo's buttocks and pulled them apart.  
  
"Oh Godric," Hugo breathed into the bed cover. "Really?"  
  
"Oh yes..." Harry moaned, burying his face into the boy's arse and dragging his tongue along the crack.  
  
Hugo's moan was lewd and obvious; Harry settled down, pressing his cock into the same covers whilst gently pushing apart strong thighs with his hands. He licked until he found the tightened pucker he'd been searching for. It was tight and resistant to his first pushes. He inhaled the musk from Hugo's skin like nectar and, hearing a squeak of approval, pushed in with his tongue. The arse he was tasting pressed up into the air, into his face, cutting off his air supply, but far from feeling in danger, Harry relished it. Hugo's skin smothered him as he delved into the boy's passage, wriggling his tongue to create pleasure.  
  
He ground his hips back and forth to gain some friction for his cock, which, ever impatient, was aching. Harry closed his lips around the hole and his tongue, earning a loud curse from Hugo's mouth, and he wormed one finger beneath his chin to tickle large, red-haired balls.  
  
"Guh!" The rough scream made Harry jump, and as his tongue was gripped vice-like in Hugo's body, he realised what was happening.  
  
Hugo made tiny, beautiful growling noises as he released into the bed, hips heaving with the effort of expelling his seed. Harry pulled back, gasping at the air, as the boy continued to twitch; only then did he see the fists which were tightly made in the bed linen, and the flush brightening his shoulders and neck.  
  
"Sorry," Hugo panted finally. "I... Gods."  
  
Harry found himself smiling as he put his hands on Hugo's hips to roll him onto his back. He crawled up over him and glanced at the softening erection, soggy at the tip, which told of Hugo's orgasm. He ducked his head to lap at it, catching the taste of semen on his tongue. He licked again to gain more, until he was suckling on the tip, unable to help but enjoy the taste of the fruits of his labour.  
  
"Nngh, don't, you'll-"  
  
"Wake it up again?" Harry laughed against the soft flesh. "And why would that be wrong?"  
  
"I just... you haven't..."  
  
"I owed you one for the glory hole," Harry pointed out.  
  
"But now..."  
  
"Hugo," he pushed himself up and looked at Hugo's red face. "Shut up."  
  
***  
  
With the redhead nestled in the crook of his arm, Harry dozed in relative peace. He hadn't slept properly for what felt like weeks, and that night was no exception, but there was something about the warmth which calmed him.  
  
His body was aching in a way which spoke of too much exertion; they had fucked once and partaken in rimming, blow jobs and when Hugo had masturbated whilst Harry watched, the world might have ended for all they knew. When Harry had pressed Hugo's face into his own come to clean it up, it had felt so wrong, and so right, that he no longer really knew which way had been up -and to confess, Harry still didn't.  
  
Dawn was lightening the sky beyond the window, and he knew that sooner or later, he would have to rise. He didn't know whether to wake Hugo up or not. Slipping away without words seemed the best way to end their night, so that neither of them could ruin it, but Harry felt like he _owed_ Hugo words. To say something, to thank him, to make him feel wanted.  
  
"Morning." The groggy greeting came from the crook of his neck, where Hugo's face was buried. "What's the time?"  
  
"Dunno," Harry answered thickly. "Don't care."  
  
Hugo lifted his head to deliver a soft kiss.  
  
"Can I ask something?"  
  
"Does it require much brainpower to answer?" Harry moaned.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Oh fuck. I'm in trouble."  
  
"How did you find this place?"  
  
"Every city has somewhere like this, Hugo. It's a city. Easier to hide what you're doing wrong, see."  
  
Hugo propped his head up with his hand, looking at Harry. "That reminds me of a song."  
  
"What song?"  
  
"By a Muggle guy, David Bowie. Do you know him?"  
  
"I'm... familiar," Harry understated. "But, more the point, how do you know him?"  
  
" _It's safe in the city to love in a doorway... to strangle some screams from the dawn. And isn't it me, putting pain in a stranger? Like a portrait in flesh, who trails on a leash, will you see that I'm scared and I'm lonely?_ "  
  
Harry simply stared at him as he repeated the lyrics around.  
  
"I found some old... those Muggle music things," Hugo made a face, irritated that he couldn't remember the word. "When I was at Dad's one day in the school holidays. That song really sticks in my head now."  
  
"Why?" Harry heard his voice creak.  
  
"The men that come here, isn't that what they're doing? Putting their pain in a stranger? They're lonely."  
  
"You think too much of people," Harry said dully.  
  
"They're lonely," Hugo whispered. "So lonely that they need to find a whore and fuck him to make the pain go away. But they always come back, so I think it must only make it worse."  
  
At that moment, Hugo looked horrendously young. Harry felt bile rise in his throat and disgust at himself turn his stomach.  
  
"Oh god, you're panicking," Hugo moaned, dropping his forehead into Harry's chest. "Don't. Please."  
  
"How can you say something like that and expect me not to judge myself?"  
  
"Well, this is why I'm generally glad when I wake up alone." Hugo grimaced. "Then I can't make a twat out of myself, like this. Scaring away the punters. My boss would nail my balls to the wall."  
  
Harry laughed a mirthless laugh and looked away, out of the window where light was coming on in leaps and bounds.  
  
"I gave your dad those CDs," he explained.  
  
"And why did you have them?"  
  
"After the war... I went through a phase of needing to know everything about my parents -the things they liked, what they listened to. Not just them, my godfather, and Remus..."  
  
"The werewolf?" Hugo's voice held just enough wonder to make Harry sigh.  
  
"Yes, the werewolf. They were friends. I wanted to know what they had been like, when they were my age. I didn't have a lot to go by, but when I went through Remus' things, I found letters, old vinyl records with notes on them. I bought the lot on CD when I went through the phase and listened to them over and over, Ron was with me sometimes. He liked them, and when it all eased off, I let him have some of his favourites."  
  
They fell into silence until Hugo kissed Harry's chest.  
  
"We should make a move... you only paid for the room until six. They'll charge you extra if you're not out of here."  
  
Harry nodded and followed Hugo out of the bed, where they started to dress without putting any of the lights on. He wondered how many other men were dressing in the same building, blinking their lack of sleep out of their eyes so that they might return to their normal lives and pretend that they didn't spend the night fucking until they simply couldn't fuck any more.  
  
"Will you come back?" Hugo asked, as his tousled head emerged from the neck of his t-shirt.  
  
"I don't think that I..." Harry shook his head. "And anyway, I doubt your sugar daddy would appreciate me."  
  
"I'm going to murder Chris," Hugo muttered darkly. "Only he uses that phrase."  
  
"But it's a true phrase, isn't it?"  
  
Hugo didn't answer.  
  
All too quickly, Harry was dressed -his boots laced and his coat zipped up. He was ready to leave and yet he didn't want to.  
  
"Thank you," he said finally. "For the night. It was... it was perfect."  
  
"Well, I hope I could give you what you needed," the boy shrugged, moving to the door. "And that it wasn't too hard to imagine who you actually wanted beneath you."  
  
There was a kind nod, and then Hugo was gone before Harry could say what was on the tip of his tongue -that, after the differences had smacked him in the face, he had not pretended, not once.  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry stared at the fire over the top of his toes, and put his ale bottle to his mouth. He was alone in the house, as usual, and there was nothing for him to do, and nothing that he wanted to do, but sit there and burn his corneas on the bright glare of the flames.  
  
The doorbell rang, jerking him out of his trance, and he swore beneath his breath. Company wasn't on his agenda. Small talk most definitely wasn't, and the only people who visited him when his children were at school were people who wanted to make small talk.  
  
He walked slowly along the hallway to the door, hoping that if he took enough time the person on the other side might give up and go away. The figure remained as a shadow through the glass, however, and Harry worked the lock mechanism, wondering why he had bothered to get up at all.  
  
"I got your note," Hugo said quietly, as the door swung open.  
  
Harry winced. He had convinced himself that his note had been a ridiculous idea, seeing as two weeks had gone by and Hugo had not arrived at his house.  
  
All it had said was 'I wasn't pretending', and gave the address of Grimmauld Place. Hugo hadn't been there since he was a toddler, precociously running around and poking everything he could reach.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Can I come in?" Hugo asked hopefully, broadening his shoulders, as if ready to take the brunt of rejection.  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
Harry stepped back to let him in.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
